A poem for wounded bodies

A poem for wounded bodies June 15, 2016

My Rublev Trinity icon
My Rublev Trinity icon

I came across a poem today in Cynthia Bourgeault’s Wisdom Jesus. It is attributed to 11th century mystic Simeon the New Theologian. There’s something exquisitely queer and deeply nurturing about it that seemed apropos this week. So I thought I would share it.

Christ’s Body

We awaken in Christ’s body
as Christ awakens our bodies,
and my poor hand is Christ. He enters
my foot and is infinitely me.

I move my hand, and wonderfully
my hand becomes Christ, becomes all of Him
(for God is indivisibly
whole, seamless in his Godhood).

I move my foot, and at once
He appears in a flash of lightning.
Do my words seem blasphemous? — Then
open your heart to Him

And let yourself receive the one
who is opening to you so deeply.
For if we genuinely love Him,
We wake up inside Christ’s body

Where all our body, all over,
every most hidden part of it,
is realized in joy as Him.
And he makes us utterly real.

And everything that is hurt, everything
that seemed to us dark, harsh, shameful,
maimed, ugly, irreparably
damaged, is in him transformed

and recognized as whole, lovely,
radiant in his light.
We awaken as the Beloved
in every last part of our body.

And he makes us utterly real. That’s my favorite line. The goal is to become real, fully divine human creatures rather than shameful, fearful lumps of flesh. So much of human existence in our age is anxiety and escapism. We are enslaved to the resentments of our past and the worries about our future. To be utterly real is to be entirely present. I’ve come to believe that’s what eternal life means: to wake up inside Christ’s body. The problem is that it’s no easy thing to become utterly real. Obviously it’s a gift we have to receive from God, but putting ourselves in the posture to receive that gift requires prayerful devotion.

And let yourself receive the one who is opening to you so deeply. We gain perfect spiritual intimacy by surrendering to the God whose ultimate posture is surrendering to us on the cross. Mutual surrender is the perfection that the apostle Paul speaks of when he writes, “For you were called to freedom, brothers and sisters; only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for self-indulgence, but through love become slaves to one another” (Galatians 5:13). The point of every limit and boundary we encounter in Christian teaching is to gain the vulnerable authenticity of mutual surrender in all our relationships. We gain this capacity when we are filled with the one who opens himself to us, what Paul calls “life in the spirit.”

We awaken as the Beloved in every last part of our body. This is the bodily wholeness that we are seeking every time we have sex. It’s uncanny how beautifully a celibate mystic describes the comfort and security of having every part of your body touched by Jesus. It’s also quite queer. I truly believe that God’s goal for humanity is for every single person to awaken as the beloved in every last part of their bodies. When our churches degrade human bodies that are different, we are sabotaging God’s goal of reconciling and incorporating all humanity into his love.

This poem is incredibly erotic and perfectly innocent at the same time. I realize that makes certain Christians very uncomfortable. I love the way that Simeon anticipates their discomfort: Do my words seem blasphemous? Then open your heart to Him. Yes! When our faith is under the white-knuckled control of our rationality, any mention of bodily delight is immediately suspect. We live miserable, straight-jacketed lives of sin management in which we are barely breathing. But when our hearts are opened to the one who has opened himself to us, everything in our flesh that is hurt, shameful maimed, and ugly becomes whole, lovely, radiant in his light.

That is what holiness is. To be radiant in Christ. We get there not through some kind of mechanistic moral legalism, but through a transformation of the heart. It’s true that many mystics speak of “mortifying the flesh.” But this does not mean to hate your bodies. It means to discipline your bodies for the sake of ecstatic encounters. That’s why we fast. Not out of legalistic obligation. But to make our flesh hungry enough that we can feel the touch of Jesus.

The question we need to ask ourselves about the things we allow to enter our bodies is whether they will deaden our flesh so that we cannot feel the touch of Jesus. Paul tells us that our bodies are sacred temples where the Holy Spirit lives (1 Corinthians 3:16). Temples are sacred to the degree that they are intentional. A temple that embodies a liturgy of prayer and worship is a place where God can be experienced. Its physical space is arranged in a very particular way to exhibit the glory of God. People show honor in temples by prostrating themselves or making signs of veneration when they enter. But if temples become places where tourists chatter loudly and click photos in front of pretty columns and sculptures, they can no longer exhibit the glory of God.

So here’s the question: has your body become a loud, tacky marketplace for tourists or is it a sacred mystery where God’s glory can be discovered? There’s no need to ask that question with shame. Because what Simeon writes is true: everything that seemed to us dark, harsh, shameful, maimed, ugly, irreparably damaged, is in him transformed and recognized as whole, lovely, radiant in his light. Our temples are never too desecrated to be made entirely holy through the power of Christ.

Christian teaching about the body has been so abused especially in the decades of backlash against the sexual revolution. To twist the idea that our body is a temple where God lives into a means of shaming teenage girls for wearing booty shorts is incredibly blasphemous. Paul says, “If anyone destroys God’s temple, God will destroy that person. For God’s temple is holy, and you are that temple” (1 Corinthians 3:17). There’s more than one way to interpret this. But what cannot be denied is its obvious expression of God’s solidarity with human bodies. God will destroy whoever abuses or denigrates your body because your body is holy. That means misogynistic sidewalk whistlers, rapists, and queer-phobic bullies of all kinds.

What if the church actually heeded the warning of this verse? What if we realized that whenever we denigrate bodies that are queer, we are blaspheming God’s temples and accruing judgment from God?

What if people with queer bodies were able to see Paul’s statement as a declaration of complete acceptance and empowerment? God’s temple is holy, and you are that temple. I don’t know that the Bible could make a more direct statement of radical inclusivity than that. This is the sign Jesus is holding on the sidewalk at every Pride parade this month. These are the words he used to welcome the victims of the Orlando shooting into his arms.

My prayer is that all of us would awaken in Christ’s body, whether our bodies are queer or otherwise, so that we can be saved from the poison of disembodied rationalism in which so many Christians today are trapped. That bodily awakening would result in tremendous healing and reconciliation. What a great poem!

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